


Family Traits

by WhiskyNotTea



Series: Whisky's Other Outlander Tales [16]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: 4x13, Gen, missing moment, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 01:30:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18325943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskyNotTea/pseuds/WhiskyNotTea
Summary: Young Ian’s first night in the Mohawk village, before he’s made to run the gauntlet.





	Family Traits

Ian lay on the cot, his hands steepled over his chest, Rollo sleeping, curved in a furry ball, close to his head. Ian’s breaths were long and deep, but his eyes remained wide open, the turmoil in his head keeping sleep away. **  
**

Sleep was inconsequential during nights like this. The night before a man’s life changes forever, when he takes a turn that leads him away from the path everyone thought he was walking on.

Ian smiled. These turns were always his favourite.

It must be a Murray trait, always seeking adventure. His own Da had left Scotland for France when he was only fifteen. And in that foreign country, he’d fought, and lived, and tasted life as no one else had. When he was injured beyond measure, he returned home, only to marry Ian’s Ma, who was a challenge on her own. One of those challenges that keep you engaged for life.

His Ma, however, had never left Lallybroch, and judging from his Uncle’s everlasting obsession with having a home, Ian concluded that it was different for the Frasers. Not that his uncle didn’t have adventures in his life, it was just that he’d never… actively pursued any of them, per se.

Ian took a deep breath, his hand falling off the top of the cot to scratch Rollo’s soft fur. His wolf let out a content whimper, moving closer to the bed, making Ian chuckle. He was grateful to have Rollo with him. Rollo filled the silences and took the darkness away whenever it approached.

But there was no darkness in Ian’s chest today, only impatience. Tomorrow he’d run the gauntlet. Tomorrow he’d prove that he was equal to the Mohawk warriors. And then, he would become one of them.

It was a strange feeling, to have anticipation mingling with curiosity. He couldn’t imagine how it would be, to belong to a community where no one shared your blood. 

During his whole life at Lallybroch Ian was trying to escape – to get away from the manor, the daily chores, his mother’s goats and his sister’s incessant teasing.

But then, as a captive, when he’d been forced to leave Scotland on that godforsaken ship, he’d missed the way his home was filled with voices, the commotion that made him feel he was never alone. He’d missed the gentle way his Ma looked at him when she thought he didn’t see her, the small smile always hiding in the corner of his father’s mouth when Janet found yet another topic to torture him about.

He had felt alone and helpless, on that ship. But it was nothing compared to what he’d lived in that house,  _Rose Hall_ , pulled straight out from hell.

Not that hope had ever left Ian – it was so deeply rooted within his chest, someone would need to kill him before severing his confidence in life.

In that sense, he was strong. He didn’t budge when pushed, he kept going when needed. Onward, forward. Like his Ma. Like Uncle Jamie. Yes, that was a Fraser trait, alright.

His uncle’s words before they had parted rang in Ian’s head. Uncle Jamie had told him to  _remember_. But how could he forget? How can a person forget who they are when every thought, every action, every beat of their heart is there to remind them? When their mind is full of memories that bring laughter to their throat and tears in their eyes?

No, Ian would never forget. And yet, he didn’t regret his choice. He didn’t regret giving his word to the Mohawk, even if that meant parting with his family.

He wanted to stay behind and live with the Mohawk to give Brianna her husband back. It was Ian’s fault that she’d lost him at the first place – at least partially. And he had plenty of time to regret the course of his and his uncle’s actions. This was his atonement, in a way.

But in that moment, when his uncle had been saying goodbye to his auntie yet again, Ian had seen everything clearly. His future and his path were in front of him, waiting for his first step. He hadn’t lingered.  

If he was honest with himself, he had done it for them as much as for himself.

Uncle Jamie and Auntie Claire had given him a home and loved him enough to soothe the pain that marred him from the months he’d been alone, before they had rescued him.

But their new home in America didn’t feel quite right. It wasn’t  _his_  home. It was warm, and open in the most wonderful way, but his skin itched to be out, to go hunt with the Indians, to explore, to become a man of his own.

Ian craved independence. He always had.

And this night, in a remote Indian village in New York, away from everything that had ever been familiar to him, Ian could feel a new force born within him. It was running through his veins, filling his heart in every beat.

It was fierce, brutal, and fulfilling. A challenge, rising in his path, daring him to go forward, to prove himself. To prove the man he would become.

The blood of the Murrays and the Frasers was burning within him, making him restless. Dangerous ingredients, both. Easy to ignite.

Ian licked his lips, balled his hands in tight fists. He would be the first of his family to become a Mohawk.

A smirk spread on his face. He would give everything he had to see Janet’s reaction to this.


End file.
